


Light in Midwinter

by jan



Category: Mushishi
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 02:50:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13044954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jan/pseuds/jan
Summary: In the depths of winter, a strange warmth. Casefic.





	Light in Midwinter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miaou Jones (miaoujones)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/gifts).



For Shin, the surest sign of midwinter had never been the first snow or loquat blossoms, but the onset of a cold.

It seemed this year would be no different. Even now, working up a light sweat as he pulled another radish from the reluctant earth, he could feel a familiar ache building between his eyes. In a few days, he knew, the ache would give way to stuffy-nosed mornings and night-time coughing, as sure as winter camellia follows autumn leaves.

Shin sighed; watched his breath cloud and dissipate in the afternoon chill. The sun was a pale smudge in the cloud-heavy sky. Beneath it, a faded mountainside, the dark ribbon of a river, and a grey-brown patchwork of fields further down the valley.

This was only their second winter since he and Kana had moved out of the village to start a home together. Shin hoped it would go better than the year before, when they’d had to make an embarrassing number of trips back home for help. They’d learnt a few lessons, at least: hence this year’s larger millet stockpile, a larderful of dried fish from late autumn, and a garden of vegetables chosen for their winter hardiness.

Shin was especially proud of that last one. He and Kana had turned a corner of their millet field over to it, after the harvest, and now it cheered him to look at the haphazard splay of leaves, a splash of stubborn green amid a withering world; cheered him, too, to think of the sweetness of broth-simmered radish and the bright spiciness of turnip.

It was less cheering, of course, to have to tend the field in the cold. Not to mention coaxing radishes out from the ground. He brushed the dirt off one -- that should be enough for the next few days, surely?

“Shin!”

He looked up. Kana waved from the road, holding something aloft; as she neared, he made out the plumage of a wild duck. A present from the farmer she’d just visited, he guessed.

“We’ll eat well tonight! Old Tetsu was kind enough to spare us this.” She held the duck out for inspection, then glanced at the basket beside him. “But what’s this -- are you planning to have radish for every meal this week?”

He grinned, embarrassed; she mirrored it. “Come on,” she said, calloused fingers fitting snugly between his. “Let’s go inside.”

 

* * *

 

It was a week after that, when he was stepping back indoors with an armful of just-harvested radishes, that a sudden dizziness struck him. He sagged against the wall, willing his head to clear and his legs to hold up.

That was how Kana found him a few seconds later. She retrieved him, first -- helping him over to the hearth -- and then the few radishes which had tumbled from his grip.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, once his futon had been laid out by the hearth and he was tucked firmly within it. “I always...”

“I could set a calendar by your colds,” she replied, the joking tone a contrast to the brisk, practised way in which she wrung out a towel and laid it on his forehead. “The solstice is almost here, isn’t it?”

A dampness in his eyes -- he blinked rapidly, chose to blame his illness. Yet something else was mired in his throat, a sentiment he could neither choke down nor voice. “Kana...”

“My mother once told me that sometimes, when you say ‘I’m sorry’, what you really mean is ‘Thank you’.” She looked down at him, a half-twist to her smile. “You’re welcome. Now stop worrying and get better soon. I can take care of the turnips, but the radishes won’t harvest themselves.”

“Thank you,” he said. “For the sake of the radishes, I’ll do my best.”

She laughed and laid a hand against his cheek.

He’d expected her palm to be cool, a welcome break from the muddled heat of fever. Yet it brought no relief; her skin was warm against his, almost uncomfortably so.

He squinted upwards. In the early darkness of a winter afternoon, she seemed almost to be glowing.

 

* * *

 

He’d thought it was an illusion, the result of a fever-strained mind. But the next morning, as she passed him a bowl of millet porridge, there it still was: a faint glow, as if she was caught in the rays of some personal sunset.

“Make sure you finish this,” she said. “I’m just going to visit old Chiyo in the valley. She might make me stay for lunch, you know how she is -- there’s some turnip stew in the pot if you get hungry later.”

She paused; touched his arm. “Is something wrong?”

He felt the heat of her hand even through his sleeve. Was it because she’d been holding the bowl of porridge, or--?

“Nothing,” he said at last. An ill person was hardly the best judge of reality. He smiled, caught himself before he could say the wrong thing: “Thank you for making the trip alone.”

She smiled back. “Not a problem.”

The porridge was soothing, the shreds of dried fish within it a pleasant surprise. He looked up when Kana was about to leave. “Have a safe trip.”

She tipped her straw hat to him in reply, a basket of radishes balanced against her hip. “I’m off, then.”

 

He tried and failed to nap; every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was that unearthly glow. He hadn’t the slightest idea what it could mean, but that was precisely why it scared him. So despite the fever-induced drowsiness, he was wide awake when Kana returned in the afternoon, basket now brimming with sweet potatoes.

“The old lady gave us a pumpkin, too,” she said by way of greeting. “Just in time for the solstice, wasn’t that kind? I’ll have to bring her something extra the next time I head over.”

Shin rolled onto his side, propped himself up on an elbow. “She… didn’t say anything?”

“About what?”

Kana hung her hat on the wall and headed over. Shin struggled to sit up. It seemed ridiculous, now that he was trying to find the words for it, but there she was, right before him, her skin lit dimly from within. “You… You’re glowing. Can’t you see it?”

She frowned, reached out towards his forehead. “Are you--”

Her fingertips were scalding.

Shin flinched -- then, guilt-stricken, met her perplexed gaze. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-- it’s just-- your hands, they’re burning. I can’t… I don’t know what’s going on, but...”

Kana looked down at her hands, turning them over in her lap. Her expression, when she finally looked up, was too complicated to read -- bewilderment? Fear? But within seconds it smoothed over into something more familiar: a determined, reassuring calm.

“I’ll go to the village tomorrow,” she said. “The doctor might know something.”

 

* * *

 

The world was muffled, swathed in white. Odd, Shin thought -- it didn’t often snow in their valley. And it was cold, colder even than the winters he recalled from childhood, when all the world’s challenges had seemed so much greater. He took one shuffling step, or tried to. There were others around him, struggling forward, but the snow was closing in around them. And yet-- there was a warmth ahead, he could feel it, a light in the distance--

A weight on his shoulder, shaking him awake.

He blinked. But then: their house, yes, his futon. And Kana.

Belatedly, he felt a blazing heat on his shoulder. He jerked back, saw the shining silhouette of fingers curling around nothing. The light radiating from her was stronger now, as if from a lantern, stark enough to obscure her features.

“You’re so bright,” he said, voice shaking. _I can’t even see you._

She made as if to take his hand, then paused; drew back. He couldn’t see her face, yet for a moment he had the strangest impression that she was crying.

Behind her, someone cleared their throat.

“Shin,” she said, and he knew it, he knew she was crying-- “This is Ginko. He’s a mushishi who was visiting the village. He’s been kind enough to come by…”

Shin knew a bit about mushishi. One had stopped by the village years ago, when Shin was a child, and his family had brought him to meet the weatherbeaten old man. Shin had never been sure if they’d been disappointed or relieved to hear that their son’s tendency to catch a cold was due merely to a weak constitution, rather than the workings of some mysterious creature.

“It’s no trouble,” the mushishi named Ginko said, moving closer. For one wild moment Shin thought he was glowing, too, until he recognised the man’s appearance for what it was: white hair against pale skin.

“Sir,” he said, sitting up. “Do you think you can help her?”

Ginko glanced over at Kana. Shin couldn’t see her face, but from the mushishi’s one visible eye, it seemed as though they were exchanging a look.

“I can try,” Ginko said eventually. “We’ll start with this.”

Without warning, he threw a handful of herbs onto the fire. Smoke billowed forth, acrid and stinging; Shin shrank back with a cough, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them again, peering through the dissipating veil, Kana was there.

Shin whipped his head around, met Ginko’s appraising gaze. “The light… it’s weakened.”

“Mm.”

There was something curious about the tone of that reply, but Shin had more important things to focus on. He reached out through the smoke, Kana mirroring the action to meet him halfway. Her fingers were warm -- a muted, _human_ warmth -- as they closed around his.

On the other side of the hearth, Ginko gave a polite half-cough. “This isn’t a permanent solution. But I think I have an idea of what this mushi might be.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Shin woke the next day, it was almost noon. There was that smoke in the air again, though faint.

The mushishi was rummaging through his medicine box. He glanced over at the sound of rustling cloth, a cigarette between his lips. “Good morning. I wrote to a friend last night; she’s just sent a very helpful reply. You should be fine soon.”

Shin set aside the question of how they’d managed such swift correspondence, and sat up a bit straighter. “Thank you. I… wait, pardon me? Is your friend a doctor?”

“Oh. No, sorry, I can’t heal your cold.” Ginko turned back, pulled another drawer open. “But I can remove the mushi that’s infected you. Should have mentioned it earlier: you’re the one who’s afflicted, not Kana.”

Shin gripped his blanket, fighting the urge to slide back down into bed. “What?”

Even as the word left his lips, a bubble of relief rose within him, surfaced through the confusion: Kana was safe. There was that.

“She’s perfectly fine. The glowing light, the heat -- that’s all in your head.” Ginko came over, knelt by the hearth, and began to unfold a small envelope. “We’ll treat that now.”

Shin’s hands relaxed. But some lingering fear kept his fingers half-curled in his futon: “Will I… will I have to stay in darkness for days? I’ve heard something about mushi and sight… Something about a river of light, and keeping your eyes closed…”

Ginko stared at him. Then the corner of his mouth quirked upwards, a split-second twitch; Shin supposed it counted as a laugh. “Not sure whom you’ve been talking to, but that’s not quite right. And no, your case is much simpler.”

A movement in the corner of his vision. Shin turned -- as natural as a flower towards the sun -- to see Kana stepping into the room, an old pickle jar in her hands. Except the jar seemed to contain… a potted radish?

“Thanks,” Ginko said, as she set it down. “And a basin, please.”

The glow was fainter now; he could see her face, at least. She caught Shin’s gaze and quirked an eyebrow: _Don’t ask me._ “Don’t worry, I removed the pickles first,” she said in a stage whisper, before heading back to the kitchen.

It was definitely one of their radishes. A young one, the leaves full and luxuriant. He was still staring at it, uncomprehending, when Kana returned, and even as Ginko took the kettle from the hearth and emptied it into the basin.

“Lean in,” Ginko said. “Breathe.”

Steam filled the air, filled his nose and throat and lungs with an unseasonal warmth, soft and damp. The smell of grass -- Ginko must have scattered something into the water. Eyes closed, surrounded by that sweet green fragrance, Shin could almost believe he was somewhere else, some _when_ else.

Then out of nowhere, a scorching pain: Kana’s fingers, twining through his. He flinched but held on, tightened his grip in return.

As they waited, breathing deep, he felt her hand cooling within his.

 

“Kawari-bi. A substitute sun. There aren’t many records, since the symptoms of infection aren’t visible to anyone except the victim. As far as we know, it usually lives in plants, but seems to occasionally attach itself to animals in the cold season.”

Shin thought he could fall asleep like this, easily: his head in Kana’s lap, her cool fingers stroking his cheek. But he did want to hear this explanation. “Why?”

“A few theories.” The mushishi took a drag of his cigarette. “Some think it infects the weaker members of migratory herds and flocks, makes them see their leader as warm and glowing -- that might make it easier for them to follow the leader through a bitter winter, so the mushi can travel further.”

Shin felt Kana’s fingers curl in his hair. He could tell, without looking up, that she was silently laughing. “What does that make me?” she asked.

“It’s just a theory,” Ginko said tactfully. “After all, no one’s ever managed to ask a deer or goose what it sees. In humans, there’s no clear pattern: sometimes it’s a child being infected, sometimes a parent, or a sibling, or a lover. Fortunately the treatment is straightforward. We tricked the mushi into believing that spring had arrived, or at least that there’d been a break in the cold. Once it left your body, it discovered the radish -- a healthier and much more pleasant home.”

“Thanks,” said Shin.

“It might be good to keep this radish growing indoors for now,” Ginko went on, ignoring him. “The kawari-bi should stay dormant as long as the host plant is healthy. When the weather gets warmer, you can replant it in the woods; the kawari-bi should be able to find a new host before the radish dies.” He paused. “Please don’t try to eat it.”

Kana laughed. “Understood. Thank you so very much for the help.”

 

* * *

 

They saw Ginko off the next morning with breakfast and a present of sweet potatoes (“Easier to eat on the go,” he’d explained, when refusing other vegetables). The clouds had cleared, and the winter sky stretched high and blue overhead as they watched the mushishi head down the road.

Shin turned to look at Kana, who was still peering off into the distance. The morning light, broken through tree branches, streaked her hair with gold; a more familiar shine. There was an ease to the set of her shoulders, a missing tension he’d barely noticed until it was gone.

Soon he’d have to go back inside. He hadn’t quite recovered from his cold yet, and every day spent ailing was another day Kana had to bear the chores alone. Sometimes he thought he’d choke on the apologies building up unspoken inside him.

But then, apologies wouldn’t harvest any radishes. The best thing he could do was get better.

Watching her face, her steady gaze, he thought about everything he owed her. How she’d always been strong for the both of them. How he’d let her, and leaned on her, and learned dependence even as he rued it.

And then he thought about the tears that he hadn’t been able to see, but was sure he’d heard; about a hand that had trembled and withdrawn. About what it meant to see things clearly. To see things for what they were.

He reached out.

At the touch of his hand, she turned, the surprise in her eyes softening quickly into fondness. “Yes? Do you see something?”

“You,” he said, and smiled. “Just you.”

**Author's Note:**

> notes:  
> \- for ‘radish’, read _daikon_ ; for ‘turnip’, _kabu_. varieties of both crops are harvested during winter, at least as far as the internet tells me… i did some preliminary research but i still know nothing about agriculture, so apologies for any mistakes m(_ _)m  
>  \- in the style of the anime/manga chapter titles, this is 「冬至の光」, 冬至 referring specifically to the winter solstice


End file.
